The Mercy of the Living
by thehoundandthebird
Summary: Sam and Castiel's secret is revealed, Charlie is dead and Dean snaps. Dean annihilates the Styne family, nearly kills Cas when he tries to leave. The Mark is poisoning his mind with violence and anger. So he leaves. As a last ditch effort, Sam and Cas enlist the help of an old friend. But will she risk the peace found in her new life to help the Winchesters one last time?
1. Prologue

The Mercy of the Living

By thehoundandthebird

Author's Note: Wanted to put out there that this was written before Season 11's release. All of the ideas pertaining to the Darkness are those created by myself. If you would like to use this idea, please ask my permission _first_. Chances are that I will allow it :)

Best Wishes,  
~Sandra

 _'_ _The wicked flee when none pursueth.'  
-Prov. 28:1_

With a coldness unbefitting the Winchester brother, he turned to the angel and said, "You and Sam stay the hell away from me. Next time I won't miss." He left the bunker swiftly, leaving the bloodied angel where he was on the ground; his angel blade stuck out from where it had been rammed into a book.

A resounding slam of the bunker's door reached Castiel's ears like it was another of Dean's ruthless blows. He felt it through his entire body; vibrating painfully from his down to the very tips of his fingers and toes. The tears that fell from his eyes stung the open cuts on his face but he didn't care. No physical hurt could compare to the emotional pain and turmoil that ran through the ancient being. He toyed with the idea of going after his friend but quickly cast it aside: Although he knew Dean would never hurt him, would never truly want to hurt him at least, there was still something feral in his eyes. Something that wasn't Dean but the Mark of Cain on his arm.

Dean wouldn't kill him but the Mark wouldn't hesitate. He would not go looking for him.

Castiel sat up slowly and leaned himself against the closest sturdy surface—the leg of a table. Instead of healing himself like he would have done he wore his wounds to aid him in masking the emotional pain he now felt radiating so powerfully within himself. Now that Castiel had spent a good chunk of his current existence among humans, the emotions he never thought were there had been unlocked. And what pain he felt could never be paralleled—like someone had stuffed the emotional worth of 10 humans inside of him. It threatened to rip the angel apart from the inside out.

He let the tears fall freely then.

They streamed silently down his face and he made not a sound as they made their descent. His shoulder shook silently, small gasps escaping his lips. Castiel remained this way, slumped against the table crying until Sam burst through the door, his gun up in front of him and searching the room frantically for his brother. "Dean!"

"Sam..." Castiel said weakly.

"Cas!" Sam kept his gun low and by his side, always on the alert. "Where's Dean?"

The angel tried to sit himself up properly. He clutched at his side, pain shooting through his ribs. "Gone."

"Gone? Gone where, Cas? We have to find him!"

"I don't know," Castiel grunted as Sam got him to one of the chairs. "But he told me that we should stay away, that next time he wouldn't miss. He's dangerous, Sam. We can't risk going after him. I barely made it out alive."

Sam plopped Castiel down onto the chair and took a few steps away, running a hand through his hair. "My brother is slowly slipping away and you simply want me to do _nothing_ about it?"

"I never said that," Castiel assured him firmly. "He still has the tracking beacon in the Impala—we can use that to keep an eye on where he's going. But we _can't_ go after him. There was something in his eyes; a darkness that was close to taking over. Dean is barely there, Sam. There was a fleeting moment where he hesitated and left, stabbing my blade into a pile of books. He didn't want to kill me but the Mark did. Let's just stay here, keep an eye on Rowena and see if can help her get this spell going."

Sam was quiet for a moment. He looked around the room while pacing in front of Castiel as if an alternative solution would present itself. When it didn't, Sam turned to the ancient being and let out a resigned sigh. "Fine. But if we're going to help Dean we need to call in the cavalry. I'm calling her in."

Castiel's eyes widened and his head tilted up and slightly sideways as he considered the taller hunter who stared back with his eyes full of conviction. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Sam? She left for a _reason_. She didn't want to live this life."

"If there's one thing I've come to learn is that once you're in the life you never leave it. I'm calling her in. If there's anyone who could help Dean, it's her."


	2. Ghost Riders In The Sky

Chapter 1: Ghost Riders In The Sky

Castiel was going to be straight with Dean. "Sam's soul has been locked in the cage with Michael and Lucifer. If we try to force that mutilated thing down his gullet, it could be catastrophic.

"He _needs_ his soul," the Winchester rebuked.

"Look," said the young woman standing beside the eldest Winchester, "we get it back and if there are complications then we'll figure out a way to deal with those, too."

* * *

It was while she was folding her flannel shirts that she got the call. The name and bright smile that lit up her screen was one she thought never to see again: Sam Winchester. The picture had been taken years ago; short weeks before Dean showed up unexpectedly in Sam's rented home. And the sight of it brought a painful stab to her heart.

She loved the Winchester family, always felt like one of them in spite of all the dangers they faced. The young woman would always be one of the Winchesters, even if she wasn't blood... even though she left long ago.

The life of the Hunter, or Huntress as they called her, turned out to be something that eventually wasn't meant for her.

If she could remember correctly, it was Dean Winchester that said, "Once a Hunter, always a Hunter." Certain habits did indeed die hard. There was a devil's trap drawn up under her front door mat in invisible paint; runes and wards drawn in the same aforementioned substance were scattered across her house to protect her from any harm. Holy water was almost always on hand, if not within arm's reach. The wind sills and doors were lined with salt infused iron painted white so not to draw suspicion from any passerby, few and far in between as they were.

Despite all the precautions, she hadn't been hunting in about four years. At some point, at least for some people in the business, there was a point where enough was enough. The she never thought that day would come, she left shortly after Castiel, the righteous idiot, broke down the walls protecting Sam from the memories of torture by the hands of Lucifer and Michael. She made sure that the Winchester brothers were stable enough before she disappeared.

She never wanted to see that kind of pain and suffering ever again... and _that_ is why, though her heart and gut demanded otherwise, she slid the red button across the screen to ignore the all. This was a wound best left unopened. _If Sam truly_ needs _me,_ she thought, _he'll call back or leave a message._

Her long slender hand placed the phone back on the couch beside her and she finished folding her laundry. There were chores to finish, after all.

* * *

Later that night, as she slowly ate her dinner, she gazed at the number '2' icon pressed at the top right corner of her phone app. It meant there was not only a missed call but a message had been left for her. A call from Sam could mean anything, something life-altering on her end... but a message meant bad juju was going down in the world.

The dread that washed over her like a bucket of ice cold water filled fibre of her being. There was no telling which she dreaded more: Listening to what Sammy had to say or actually leaving the comfort of her new life to help in whatever way she dared.

She would sacrifice anything for them.

With a slight tremor to her hand, she picked up the phone, heaved a sigh, and listened to what the youngest Winchester had to say. "Jeyne? It's Sam. Dean's boogied on down to funky town... and we need to get him back. Call me back. We could really use your help." There was a block as Sam hung up the phone.

'Funky town' was an expression that Sam and Dean used in code to let each other know that they were in trouble. A code that they had asked her to use if she was ever in danger.

And as if it was second instinct, Jeyne Levaine Ramsay clicked Sam's contact and the phone began to ring.

"Jeyne?" came Sam's sad voice after the first ring. It was as if he had been waiting for her call.

Despite the bad situation, Jeyne smiled and marveled at the sound of his voice. No matter how much it hurt, in the end she missed him and his brother dearly.

"Hey Moose," her voice was calm and even, like the heavenly sound of a babbling brook. "It's so good to hear your voice."

"You too, Huntress," he said with a smile to his baritone voice. It was so easy talking with Sam, as if years had never passed. It was easy to talk to him from the start and something told her that that would never change.

"Hate to keep this short but sweet, though I'm sure we'll have plenty to talk. Where do you need me?" Jeyne said trying not to sound terrified or rushed.

"Lebanon, Kansas." Sam gave her an approximate address.

Jeyne sighed and ran a hand through her long hair nervously. "That's a 17 hour drive, Sammy." She looked out the bay window of her living room and to the city below her from where her home stood on the Hamilton escarpment. "And that's without stopping."

"Cas will go out to meet you. Just call when you get close." Sam reassured.

"If I'm not there this time tomorrow, if I don't check up, activate the tracker on my truck. Remember how?"

"Of course," he said evenly. "Drive safe. We'll see you soon."

"Always."

It wasn't long before Jeyne had what necessities she needed thrown into the green duffel bag Dean had gifted her some years ago. Passport, a bunch of clothes and some of her favourite hunting tools. She simply hoped that the border patrol wouldn't search her bags when she crossed into the States... or find the false bottom in the bed of her truck. All her weapons were stashed there, even after all these years.

She didn't have a problem coming into Canada so she prayed to Castiel, hoping it would go just as smoothly returning to the States. Jeyne put the key into the ignition of her 1950's Chevy pickup and roared down the road.

Luckily enough for her, she wasn't stopped at the border for a search, nor was she pulled over by any local officers or state troopers as she flew down the road. Perhaps praying to Cas, something she hadn't done very often, was beneficial in some way. A grin crossed her features for a moment: They had eventually taken a good liking to each other—had become friends, even. Cas had been the one who graciously took the time off his quest for purgatory to set to the wards in her house—especially the angel wards. Jeyne always had a hard time with them. Cas was gracious enough to leave her with a notebook filled with wards/runes and their meaning. But as soon as he was done, he vanished.

Tired eyes turned back to the tarmac as the truck continued down the road long into the morning. As the sun rose over the horizon a Johnny Cash song came on the radio. Ghost Riders in the Sky. Fingers tapped against the steering wheel to the steady beat of the music. It reminded her what was out there, lurking in the shadows, in the corner of our eyes or often in broad daylight (though many would often denied what they saw).

As the song played, two particular verses stood out to her:

 _Their faces gaunt, their eyes were blurred,  
Their shirts all soaked with sweat.  
He's riding hard to catch that herd  
But he ain't caught 'em yet  
'Cause they got to ride forever on that  
Range up in the sky  
On horses snorting fire as they ride on hear their cry_

 _As the riders loped on by him,  
he heard one call his name.  
'If you want to save your soul from hell  
a-riding on our range  
Then cowboy change your ways today  
or with us you will ride  
Trying to catch devil's herd across  
these endless skies.'_

And as the final chorus came to an end, she was reminded of the weeks before she left. After having her brother murdered by a demon, she flew out of town in a rage; wanting nothing but to kill every demon she could get her hands on.

"Then cowboy change your ways today or  
with us you will ride."

The line repeated itself in her mind and it reminded her of a conversation of sorts she once had with Dean.

 _Jeyne stood in the middle of a gloomy diner. There was blood splatter on her clothes. The blade in her hand dripped with blood and a sea of demon corpses lay at her feet. It surrounded her and nearly filled every inch of the laminate flooring. An uncontrollable rage filled her and she shook with it._

 _She had gotten her revenge on the demon who killed her brother days ago. However it hadn't been enough. There were still so many other of his_ filthy _kind roaming the Earth and each one of them was as guilty as the demon who tortured and killed Cliff. The more scum she could get her hands on the better._

 _The Hunter took one last look at the justice she doled out and turned to leave, her face and eyes void of emotion. Appearing before her, gun in hand and ready to fire, was none other than Dean Winchester. She stopped and watched as his face dropped while taking in the damage._

 _"Jeyne..." was all he could manage to say in that moment._

 _"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said, almost allowing herself to convey her pride._

 _"No, this is bat crap crazy._ That's _what this is," Dean fired, his tone incredulous._

 _"And demons slaughtering people and tearing apart families is a practice you condone, Dean Winchester?" she spat venomously. "Saving people, hunting things—the family business: Isn't that what we do?"_

 _"I never said that," Dean replied, obvious worry etched on his face. "Believe me, I'm as happy as the next hunter that there are less evil things in the world. Fan-freaking-tastic! Good for you, Huntress. But there comes a point where you just gotta stop. 'Cause if you don't change you'll be so far gone that you eventually become what you hunt._ You'll _be the monster I have to gank and I_ never _want to see that day."_

 _With each word that came out of Dean's mouth, parts of Jeyne's logical self was slowly coming back to the forefront. The walls, dean knew, were still up—could see it in her eyes. "Get out of my way, Dean." Jeyne tried to push past him, wanting nothing but to get away._

 _Dean grabbed hold of her by the shoulders and pushed her backwards. "There's no way in hell you're leaving here without knowing that you won't go on any of these insane suicide missions again."_

 _"Promise," she said hollowly._

 _"No way," he replied harshly. "Not Good enough."_

 _"Why not?" she hissed._

 _He gestured to her. "Because this ain't Jeyne talking: It's the sadistic psycho-bitch that's flapping empty promises."_

 _Dean had been prepared for her outburst. She roared, her knife raised as she ran full tilt towards him. He deflected it easy enough, disarming her which sent the demon knife skittering across the floor a safe distance away. Jeyne used his brief distraction to her advantage, stomping on his foot, punching him in the stomach and head but him. He fell backwards against the door frame and she made a bee-line for the demon blade. He quickly regained his marbles and tackled Jeyne to the ground. She yelped. He spun her around and punched her, cringing as he did so. Dean didn't want to hurt her but she was strong. If Jeyne was going to put up a fight, he would force himself to reply in kind._

 _He head but her in turn and she grunted but wasn't done fighting by any means. She brought up her leg and kneed Dean in the crotch. The Winchester yelped and his grip on her loosened. Jeyne pushed him away and kicked him in the face as he stood and clocked him with a right upper cut. He fell onto his back. She scrambled to her feet and was desperately trying to reach the blade. There was nothing she wanted more than to get what she wanted and leave, to hunt down more demons. Fighting Dean, the man she cared for more than anything in this world, was tearing her apart and her facade was rapidly disappearing as each second ticked by. She had to avenge Cliff... she had to._

 _Just as Jeyne clumsily bent down to grab the blade, Dean was there to pull her backwards by the leg and onto her stomach. He pulled her towards him, spinning the Huntress around as she struggled violently against him._

 _He sat on her torso, pinning her wrists to the ground with his large hands. His lip was blooded and her forehead had a gash where glass had cut her from the fall._

 _"Dean! Let me go!" she screamed as she struggled to keep her tears at bat. "I have to do this."_

 _"No," he said firmly, "you don't and I won't stand by and watch you drown in your sorrow and lose yourself._

 _"Let me go—they killed him!" she yelled in anguish._

 _"And you killed the bastard. I watched you do it with my own eyes," he replied in earnest. "What good did that do you? Nothing. You feel just as bad as you did the day he died, if not worse. Killing that demon and all the others is not going to bring him back, Jeyne. This has gotta stop."_

 _"I can't—"_

 _"You can and you_ will _," he said firmly though not harshly. "If I can move on from all the crap I've gone through, you can. You're stronger than you think, baby girl."_

 _Whatever fight she had left her. What words she had to utter died on her lips. She let out an inhuman wail as her emotions broke through the flood gates and crashed to the forefront of her mind. She screamed and sobbed and Dean was quick to take her into his arms, desperately holding her to his chest. Jeyne wasn't magically healed but he knew she was out of danger, at least for the time being._

 _Neither of them could remember how long they had been holding each other as if their lives depended on it. Dean rocked her in his arms, one hand on the back of her head, the other around her waist. They sat there among the dead bodies until Jeyne cried herself dry and fell asleep, exhaustion finally taking over._

 _Jeyne woke up a day later at Bobby's. Dean was at her side, asleep on the floor. Their hands were close to each other, as if he had fallen asleep holding it._

Dean, as well as Sam and later Cas, went out of his way to help sort her out when she in dire straights. She did the same for her boys when she could. She would be damned if she didn't do better than her best to repay him what he deserved; what she owed.

Jeyne, full of conviction, pressed the gas pedal close to the floor and flew faster down the highway like a bat out of hell.

* * *

It was about 2 o'clock in the afternoon when Jeyne pulled up to the rendez-vous point. She slipped from the faded blue cab and pulled the phone from her jacket pocket. Castiel's name was easily found in her contact list. His phone was ringing. What normally wouldn't have startled her did: A ringtone broke through the misty air from behind her. She spun around, blade at the ready, only to find the celestial being standing sheepishly behind her. His usually lazy and tired smirk painted his face.

"Cas," Jeyne sighed, a smile lighting up her face. She tucked her phone quickly into her pocket before hugging him fiercely. To her surprise, he held her with equal measure. "Never thought I'd see your face again."

"Likewise," his hoarse voice said evenly.

They stood by the side of the road for a few moments longer, hugging each other. The feeling felt surreal to Jeyne—she thought never to see him again.

As they separated she wondered what it would feel like to hug Sam again... and eventually Dean.

"Shall we?" Cas said, drawing the huntress from her thoughts.

"Yeah, of course," Jeyne replied. They walked together in silence towards the Chevy. "Mind taking the wheel? Haven't spent more than 10 minutes at a time out of the truck in 19 hours."

"Yes. Of course."

"Thanks."

As they climbed into the cab, Jeyne half expected to use some of his 'mojo' to drive. Sam wanted her to know where the bunker was, after all, so Castiel wouldn't teleport her there. However he did the most unexpected thing. His hand grasped the key in the ignition and turned on the engine and drove down the road like he had done it a thousand times before.

"I learned to drive when I was human." He said this casually, like it was the most normal thing to have been human.

Jeyne's eyes widened, obviously surprised. Her mouth hung agape. "I've clearly missed a lot more than I thought."

"Yes, you have. I won't regale you with details—it's best if Sam does that. I'll answer questions after you've spoken with him." His tone was even.

"Fair enough."

The ride short ride to the bunker was spent in silence. Trees flew by in a blur as the truck sped down the road. Clouds on the near horizon threatened rain and the atmosphere around them felt eerily still, like the calm before a storm. Whether the storm was a force of Dean or nature was to be determined later.

Some short minutes later, Castiel was turned onto a slanted, winding gravel road. And after climbing the last hill, a landing with a set of stairs leading into the rock face, where a door had been set, came into view. On the flat bit of ground one could see a parked truck, very similar to that of Jeyne's. Next to it stood a tall figure rummaging through its bed. His hair came close to this shoulders and his broad torso a green army-style jacket (one similar to the one Jeyne bore); the collar of a grey flannel shirt could be seen peeking through the top of the jacket. His hands rose from the behind the tailgate with a few bags of groceries.

As soon as Sam Winchester turned around to face the sound of the approaching vehicle, he was pleasantly surprised to see Castiel driving the truck, Jeyne seated in the passenger seat. He wasn't expecting them for a few hours—the bunker was still a bit of a mess. At least he could now have extra hands to it done.

Jeyne's tired and tearful smile reached her eyes at the sight of the youngest Winchester brother. Without really realizing what she was doing (if she had, she would've thought it best not to) the young woman was running towards him and she launched herself into the giant's arms, quiet tears of happiness streaming down her face. Sam had dropped the bags almost immediately to catch her. He hugged her fiercely, lifting her momentarily from her feet. Until he saw Jeyne sitting in the cab of her truck, he hadn't realized how much he had missed her. It seemed as it the sentiment was equally shared.

"Sammy," Jeyne mumbled into the crook of his beck. "It's so great to see you."

"You too, J," he said gently.

They held each other at arm's length for but a moment before Sam bent down to grab the plastic grocery bags.

"Allow me," Castiel, who was suddenly at Sam's side. "You two have a lot to, uh, 'catch up' on."

"Thanks, Cas," Jeyne and Sam said simultaneously. They smiled and laughed. Jeyne walked quickly to the cab and reached for her duffel bag, which Sam took from her as the door slammed shut with a _clunk_.

He gestured towards the door and they quietly walked into the bunker. Sam held the door for her. "Cas is right: We've got a lot to talk about."

"Then we better get on with it. Let's discuss it over a pot of coffee and a bowl of poutine," Jeyne suggested with a smile.

"Consider it done."

* * *

"The next day when I checked on his body, Dean was gone. Nothing was there but a not asking me not to go looking for him. It was when I knew the Mark had most likely turned him into a demon, just as Cain had been."

Jeyne nearly choked on her coffee as she began taking a sip. "Dean was a _demon_ and you didn't think of calling me in _then_?"

"Sam was missing for some months in search of Dean. Consumed by it. What's important is that Dean was found in the end, restrained and demonism cured," Cas cut in.

"My statement still stands," Jeyne said exasperated.

Sam's throat did its weird bobbing as he stared at Jeyne. It was clear he was struggling with something. "You left, claiming you had had enough. I didn't want to bother you unless it was absolutely necessary."

Jeyne's expression was incredulous. "And dean being a freaking _demon_ wasn't important enough for that?"

"Of course it was! But calling someone who clearly no longer wanted anything to do with the Hunter lifestyle wasn't on the top of my list. Getting Dean detained and out of harm's way was my priority."

Jeyne was going to retort. Instead, she shook her head and hung it, relaxing her shoulders and taking a deep breath. Arguing wouldn't help them. "Then why call me back into the thick of things? Has he gone all Darth Vader again?"

"Not yet."

"What do you mean 'not yet'?"

"The Mark is slowly corrupting him again we fear it will take over, turning him back into a demon. We need to get the Mark off," said Castiel.

"But how, exactly, are we going to do that?"

Sam and Cas exchanged looks. "You aren't going to like it."

Jeyne glared at Cas first, then Sam. "Try me," she dared.

"We have a book of spells—very dark and ancient magic. Extremely powerful... The Book of the Damned."

"The _what?!_ Sam, you can't be serious?"

"I am," he said nonchalantly.

"Spells from that book not only need a very powerful caster but they come at great cost."

Sam met her eyes, indifference in them. "I know that."

"I want Dean safe too but this is not the right way to go about it—this plan stinks three ways to Sunday."

"I don't see any alternative, Jeyne," Castiel said reluctantly. "We've spent months researching a way to get the Mark removed and this is the only solid solution we have been able to conjure."

"No, Cas—not you too! You're supposed to be the sensible one."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news but this the only way. You once said, 'Look, we get it back and if there are complications then we'll figure out a way to deal with those, too'."

"That was when we got Sam's soul back. The only consequences it brought were the barriers breaking down, allowing him to remember the torture. You broke them down, as I recall, Castiel."

"Guys, this is all been forgiven a long time ago," Sam cut in.

"That's all fine and dandy but that does not take away from the fact that this spell could be dangerous not only for a lot of people but for Dean, himself." Jeyne fumed. "Are you willing to sacrifice that for one person? Isn't the saying supposed to be, 'The needs of the few _outweigh_ the many?"

"I'm ready to sacrifice what I can to save my brother!"

"You would sacrifice innocent lives?!" Jeyne stood abruptly to her feet, throwing her hands in the air.

"Yes, I am Jeyne," Sam replied in kind. "He's my _brother_."

Jeyne turned on Sam, who stood quickly, and she jabbed her finger in his direction. "Samuel John Winchester, you need to get your head checked. Perhaps get Clarence over there to join you! I get you want to save Dean, and I've tried to help you each and every other time that something horrible has befallen him. But the Sam I knew would never do something as reckless. Sacrificing our own well beings is ok but a potential massacre of innocents in God knows what numbers is absolutely _insane_! At least you will never find a being powerful enough to cast the spell."

Sam turned his torso to meet Castiel's eyes slowly. Jeyne saw the interaction and, if possible, her fury grew greater. Hey eyes darkened dangerously. "Actually..." Sam said slowly, cautiously. But the damage had been done.

The silence was deafening. The tension in the air was palpable. If there was one thing Sam learned was Jeyne's fury was as great as Dean's, sometimes greater. However, Dean usually verbally expressed his anger, and often physically. Jeyne's silence was deadly.

After a long silence, Jeyne asked: "Who?" She whispered that single word, filled with venom.

Sam swallowed hard. "Rowena."

Jeyne shook slightly but didn't move otherwise. You could feel the anger radiating like heat off of her skin. She had only heard of the infamous witch in passing what she heard was bad. "You're truly out of your mind. Not only are you willing to sacrifice people but you're getting _her_ to _do it!_ Are you an idiot? Have you truly flung yourself from your rocker? You do realize the only person who is benefiting from this is the bitch witch, right?"

"Jeyne, listen to me, please!" Sam pleaded. The woman who he loved like family snatched her jacket from the chair upon which she had been seated and stormed for the door. Her duffel bag had been left at the bottom of the staircase: Her first priority had been food and coffee when she came in, insisting on being shown to her room after she had heard what needed to be told. She was relieved that this nor worked to her advantage for a quick escape.

"I'll listen to you when you've come to your senses; when you kill Rowena and throw that damned book to the bottom of the Marianas Trench."

"Wait! Please, Jeyne!"

"I'm going home, Winchester. Hopefully I'll outrun what apocalypse you're about to bring on... Give Dean my love."

The door of the bunker slammed shut behind her and the sound rang through to every inch of the compound. Sam turned to Castiel, running a hand through his hair.

"Perhaps we should not have told her _everything_." Cas's voice was soft.

"Yeah, you don't think?" Sam sighed heavily. "I'm going after her."

Castiel's hand shot out and firmly grasped Sam's forearm. "Don't," he said sternly. "She will come to her senses once she's had enough to think it over."

"What if she doesn't?"

There was a short moment of silence where they stared at each other. He nodded at him with understanding. Castiel let him go.


	3. Crawl Backwards

Chapter 2: Crawl Backwards

The look in Sam's eyes was emotionless. Jeyne knew from the moment she laid eyes on him that this wasn't Sam... not truly; not wholly.

* * *

The 50's Chevy pickup slowly increased in speed as it flew down the quiet and near deserted highway. Its driver's mind was blank, eyes teary, and sensations numbed. The only thing that kept her grounded was the sound of the engine: Its rumbling sounded much like that of the Impala's.

It brought back many memories of Dean. Much of the time spent sleeping in back of the classic car or on Dean's shoulder, when Sam had been unable to accompany them; the sound of classic rock played softly from the radio, or softly hummed by Dean, and the sure rumble of the Impala, surrounding them like a security blanket.

Jeyne wiped the tears angrily from her eyes and focused on the road. She tried to forget her pain and the emptiness that seemed to have filled Sam. It hadn't been like soulless Sam—it was a pained Sam, a hurt Sam... a shadow of a man she had once known. He was incomplete without Dean, and acted much like his soulless version would have—not conscious of the consequences of his actions, only doing what he wanted, what he thought was best.

He had reeked of desperation.

"Of course he's desperate!" a familiar voice filled her ears. "He's trying to save someone who he knows doesn't _want_ to _be_ saved."

The woman shrieked when she turned her head to see Dean sitting beside her in the cab. She quickly slammed on the breaks and swerved to the gravel shoulder of the road where she came to a miraculously safe stop. She opened the door to her truck and, in a panic, nearly fell as she scrambled from the cab; leaving the door open in her hurry to escape.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart," he said matter-of-factly. "So why you running?"

Jeyne took a few long strides before she fell to her knees, clutching her head. "He's not real," she quietly assured herself.

He scoffed. "You're saying that like I _can't_ hear you. Just because this is happening in your head doesn't mean it ain't real."

Though she knew better than to acknowledge him, talking to any form of Dean was better than feeling completely alone. It _was_ Dean she thought of while she drove, effectively keeping her sane... but it had been since he had gone to hell that she hallucinated him. "We both know Dean doesn't have any psychic mojo, so this isn't real."

"What if I really am the real deal, just gone all douche bag of hell, again?"

"If anything Sam says is true, only death could bring him back as a good ol' black eyes. 'Sides, can't smell a lick of sulfur on you." Jeyne remained where she was on the ground, her eyes slammed shut.

"Ok. You got me," hallucination Dean admitted. "But you must be desperate if you've got me rattling around your head."

"I didn't exactly ask for this," she said bitterly. "Five years and you'd think I'd be fine."

"I'm no expert but you're not exactly looking like a bucket of sunshine. More like seven shots of tequila and an ass whoopin'."

"Yes, let's remind me that you _aren't_ real and that I'm dealing with a personal crisis—as well as a mental meltdown," she hissed. "Now let's drop the matter, I'll stop thinking about you, and you can just piss off. I need to get home, preferably in _one piece_."

There was a brief moment of silence where Jeyne believe she had banished the Winchester from her mind. "Where is that, exactly?" Dean reproached. "All by yourself in that house in Canada? I don't think so."

Jeyne rose quickly to her, facing Dean; her features were contorted in anger. "That house has been the only place I've been able to call home my entire life!—"

"What a load of bull crap!" Dean yelled.

"And what makes you the expert of my feelings?"

"Have you forgotten already? I'm _inside_ your head, I'm a part of you. I _know_ things that you refuse to admit."

"Like what, Houdini?" she hissed.

"The last time you really felt at home was with me and Sammy, driving in the Impala going God knows where doing God knows what," he said earnestly. "A wise man once told me family don't end in blood. But it doesn't start there, either. Family cares about you— _not_ what you can _do_ for them. Family is there through the good, bad; all of it! They got your back... even when it hurts. That's family. _That's_ what home is. Not some building with four walls and a roof. Home is where the family is. That sound like the place you've got?"

Jeyne stared at Dean with teary eyes. "Well, I _can't_ _go_ home. One Winchester is AWOL and the other has lost his goddamned mind—same with our angel buddy, Clarence."

"Of course Sammy's lost it a little! He's searched high and low for a cure and the only thing he's got could mean life or death for a _lot_ of people. Sam tries to save the innocents, not slaughter them!" Dean said as he took a step towards Jeyne. "He's losing his brother and the only solution he has is the worst possible scenario: A spell that has ten kinds of crazy written all over it and a powerful bitch witch to cast it. But as long as he has me around he's sane, no matter how messed up it gets. We work better as a team. It's either he tries his hardest to help me with everything he's got and succeed or he's going to go insane trying to save me for God knows how many times this has been."

"Removing the Mark of Cain with dark magic can only lead to horrible things, Dean. You wouldn't want that. You would rather _sacrifice_ yourself for the sake of the entire world before you would let Sam do something _this drastic_."

"Sam may be a little bat shit crazy right now but you and I know that he wouldn't be doing this unless there wasn't some other way. I may not want this but maybe I am corrupted by the Mark. Maybe the Mark has clouded my judgement, made me power hungry and careless with what good deeds I _can_ do. Maybe this isn't what I would normally want... but something that I _need_. You don't know it but maybe I just want this damned thing off of me, no matter what the cost; to have it stop poisoning me and hurting those that I love most... Sam, Cas... you. You gotta do something, Jeyne."

"You... you _wouldn't_ want this..."

"For what love you still have for me, if there's even any of it left, help Sam help me. He knows what he's doing, even if it seems a little nuts to you. Save my brother... save me and my soul, baby girl," he pleaded.

Every last fibre of her being told the Ramsay girl to say no. This was wrong and she should keep on heading home; back to where she had built a normal life and was safe from everything she left behind... But was it _really_ home? Was four walls, a roof, some doors and some land to call her own, _really_ what she wanted and needed and was familiar? Or was home with someone to laugh with and joke with; with someone who would always had her back? Everything last part of her told her to refuse what her hallucination—one that felt so real, was more vibrant than others she had had—and forget everything and return to her new life. Everything but her heart. "I don't know, Dean," she whispered.

"Stop for the night and sleep on it, at least," he insisted. "Promise me you'll do this and I'll disappear. The next time you see me I'll be real."

After a moment's hesitation, she replied. "Fine. There's a motel a half hour behind me, but I'm not promising anything beyond that."

Dean smirked and approached her, kissing Jeyne's worried forehead. "Thanks, Huntress."

Jeyne closed her eyes and sighed. When she looked up to say goodbye, he was gone.

The emptiness that followed was nearly unbearable. A sob was choked from her throat and she wrapped her arms around her waist. Up until that moment she had suppressed all, or most, memories of Dean and all their adventures. They came back to her in that moment. The pain of his disappearance, even if it was but a very vivid hallucination, was felt deeply.

It had been as if he was really there. Dean's form felt so different than other version her mind had conjured. The kiss felt real; the breath on her skin, the warmth radiation from his body; his touch. His presence was so very similar to the real thing that Jeyne could have convinced herself that he had, in fact, been there.

She slapped a hand over her mouth as a sob escaped her, desperate and raw, though no one was there to see her break down or hear her cries of anguish. Shaky limbs brought her to the truck, where she dragged herself into the driver's seat. Jeyne slammed the palms of her hands onto the steering wheel. She screamed out her pain until her throat felt raw and her lungs were screaming for a reprieve. Her fists pounded against the steering wheel until her knuckles split. Jeyne was losing her mind to her grief.

The reality of the situation was almost too much to deal with. Dean needed her help and there was no way she could—no legitimate, _sane_ way.

Jeyne rested her head on the wheel and sobbed until she had cried herself dry. The pieces of her sanity were slowly drawn together and she drove herself to the motel a few miles back, just as she had promised, to rest for the night. It's the least she could do for Dean.

* * *

The pickup purred down the road. It was twilight and the phone was one of the only things lighting up the night. A red dot on the screen marked his destination; the blue showed his position on the map.

His eyes were filled of determination. He would make her see the light. This was the _only_ way. It was a hard fact to accept, even for himself, but there was nothing he wouldn't do to save his brother. He would search the ends of the Earth until there was nothing left _to_ find. But if Sam was going to get through this, if this spell would indeed have biblical consequences, he needed everyone on board; everyone he loves together to ride it out. To deal with the consequences—together.

Truth to told, there were many times when Sam would have used her help. Putting the pieces of his soul back together, the leviathans... finding a cure for the Mark of Cain, to name a few. He was a grown man and he could handle these sort of things on his own, but there were often times where he wish he hadn't. Dean wasn't _always_ helpful, and ever though he loved both his brother and Castiel deeply, Jeyne had always offered an open mind, a fresh perspective, and had been a good friend from the start—even for Dean.

Sam had later found out Jeyne and Dean had met in high school. The specifics of the encounters had been left out but he suspected it had no supernatural undertones—that she was one of the sane, grounded people in his life. This was before she joined the after Jess's death.

Sam and Jeyne had met at Stanford. She was studying in the Mechanical Engineering program and had been close friends with Jess. After Sam had asked her our (her being Jeyne) she insisted she wasn't girlfriend material. He had been disappointed and discouraged but after meeting Jess things had fallen into place. Things just _clicked_ and life started to look up for him.

After Jess' death and all hell broke loose, he resented Jeyne for the happiness she inadvertently stole from him. It would have been easier to have been with Jeyne than it had been dealing with the pain of the memory his late girlfriend left behind.

They had since spoke about this. Spoken being a huge understatement. It had been a full-on yelling match. And everything, in the end, was forgiven and forgotten.

Sam thought about his friend as he drove down the deserted highway. The sun had set an hour ago and he was an hour behind Jeyne. At least that was what the GPS had said when he last glanced at it. As he quickly checked the screen to see where Jeyne was headed, the red dot had disappeared. Panic slowly started to make its way up his throat and was forced to pull over to the gravel shoulder.

As he scrolled the map in attempt to find Jeyne's location, a text message lit up the screen. "Sorry, Sam. I need to fall off the grid. Don't come looking for me unless you have my say so."

Sam swore loudly and slammed the flat of his free hand on the steering wheel. He wanted nothing more than to talk but he knew when she needed to be alone. That message meant she was thinking. Perhaps Cas had been right after all: she did need time to come to her sense.

As the truck pulled onto the highway, heading back in the direction from which he came, Sam allowed himself a small glimmer of hope.

* * *

If she was going to think, the last thing she needed as a Winchester knocking down her door in the middle of the night. Jeyne had yanked the GPS tracker from the wheel housing and deactivated it. "Sorry, Sammy," she said quietly to herself after sending him a quick text message.

Jeyne had pulled up the motel a few moments earlier, having seen it on the road through outskirts of Superior, Nebraska before she hallucinated Dean. It wasn't easy to miss, either. A huge red neon sign on the top of the building read _MOTEL_. On the same complex was a "COLD BEER  & WINE STORE", something she was grateful to see. A nice bottle of cheap wine would help her unwind and think this crap show through.

The air was heavy and foggy when she exited the store, a bottle of wine in each hand. She tugged her jacket closely to her body to cover her exposed skin that the breeze nipped at viciously. Goosebumps raised across her body as a gale of wind whipped around her. A chill shook her right down to the bone. It had nothing to do with the cold wind. Something felt wrong, something changed and it worried her. She rushed to her room and slammed the door shut behind her, engaging the deadbolt before sitting onto the bed.

The room was sparsely furnished: A dressed upon which sat an old box TV was centered against the wall in front of her double bed. A single night stand stood at the bed's right hand side, a single lamp stood there. An old, faded picture hung above the bed, nailed into the cheap wood panelling. Shabby chic... That was a polite way of describing it.

Jeyne sat on the edge of her bed and removed her boots clumsily from her feet. Her flannel shirt soon followed along with her jeans. Clad in only an undershirt, panties and socks, she removed the portable speakers from her bang and plugged her phone into the docking system. After turning on some Zeppelin, she uncorked her wine and danced and drank her inhibitions away. Screw the end of the world and the fucking Winchesters—nothing mattered to her in that moment than forgetting it all and letting loose.

She danced her cares away, something she hadn't done in a long time. And it felt good—great, even. She danced from _Black Dog_ to _Bron-Y-Aur Stomp_ to _Ramble On_. Eventually, someone banged on the wall behind her bed and shouted. "Turn it down, jack ass. Some of us are trying to sleep!"

Rolling her eyes, she turned off her music. "Hakuna your tatas, buddy," she slurred, her happy drunken stupor turning into a sad one. Why did Douchepants McGee have to ruin her fun? "Won't happen again."

"Night," the male voice said curtly.

Jeyne collapsed onto her bed, laying on her stomach. Her right arm and leg dangled from the edge of the bed. She quickly turned off the light and rolled onto her back, staring blankly at the darkness above her head. Something about the stranger's voice had been familiar to her. So familiar... but where had she heard it? The question nagged at her: the soft rumble sounded like home, a place where she could easily slip into and fall asleep peacefully, safely.

For reasons that escaped her, she raised her hand and knocked on the wall, using the rhythm she once tapped when trying to get her neighbour's attention in the adjacent apartment. Who was it that lived there again? Someone important, she knew that. But who? The question ate away at her conscious mind; consumed it so much that she didn't that her knocking was answered by a continuation of her pattern, the beginnings of _Pour Some Sugar On Me_.

The man next door was dumbfounded to say the least. Through all the anger and pain of recent events something good had seemingly come from it. But why was _she_ here, of all placed? He believed she had quit the life and gone to live with the yuppies north of the border. But she was here, Superior, probably stopping for the night even if the bunker was an hour south from where she stopped. Jeyne was a smart cookie: why wasn't she with Sam?

Dean brought his fist down from the wall, suspecting she had likely fallen asleep. He resisted the strong urge to barge into her room and... and do one of many things swirling through his mind. Yell at her, crush her to him, demand answers to the questions she left unanswered after her untimely departure. So many things and yet he couldn't do any of them. He didn't need to hurt someone else he love. _But why isn't she with Sammy?_ He asked himself a second time. The eldest Winchester knew Sam had called her into the game, something he hated him for. The last thing Dean needed was Sam to _her_ , of all people, back into the line of fire.

He let himself stew for a moment until remembered a dream he had a few hours ago. The one where he was with Jeyne on the side of the road. It felt so real to him, like an out of body experience. Her skin had been warm, nothing like a dream. Had everything that happened in that dream really take place? Anything was possible... but he dreaded what that could mean.

* * *

 _It was the first day of her Junior year of high school and the dread and fear that washed over consumed her every thought. She had spent the entire summer ignoring_ his _numerous calls and angry messages. Why she bothered breaking up with him was beyond her—he would continue on as if she hadn't broken it off; as if she was still somehow his girl, his property._

 _She almost skipped the day, wanting nothing do to with the confrontation that was sure to happen. Her parents reused her and told her to inform them if the 'bastard tried anything funny'. They never seemed to understand that no matter what the promised to do, he would always find a way to torment her, to continue making her life a living hell, in every sense of the word._

 _Jeyne had dressed herself in some old clothes to hide herself from him, despite knowing everyone would be sporting their best clothes for the start of the school year. Better to hide in plain sight rather tahn stick out like a sore thumb. She sported faded jeans, moccasins, a flannel shirt and an old hooded jean vest. That way she could shelter her face from view, especially since her hair had been done up in a long braid—it wouldn't do much to hide her face._

 _She stood before the school, planted to the sport as fear coursed through her veins. Trent was going to find her, she felt it in her fut. He always did. And when he did she was in for one hell of a fight, it not worse. Her tongue, which her parents always asked her to mind, would do a good job of that—it was the only part of her that was strong against such a big guy. Her wits and thin stature, which sometimes allowed quick escape, were the only thing on her side._

 _No one much cared for what happened to her but Jess. And that though combined with her fear made her sick. She quickly ran to a nearby bush and wretched her breakfast. After her stomach was good and empty, she popped a few mints into her mouth and made for the inside of the building, hoping for the best._

 _The hallways were filled with students of all ages. Some of them looked nervous, the big grade 9 year! Others ran to their friends and embraced each other, squealing with delight. Jess wouldn't be here for her to do like so many other teens. Her trip to California had been extended another month. Her grandmother passed away last week. Jeyne felt more alone than ever. The ever haunting thoughts of Trent did nothing to lighten her mood._

 _She swallowed hard when the main doors opened and his deep voice boomed across the hall, announcing his entrance._ Shit _, she thought._ I need to get out of here! _Jeyne slowly picked up her pace and made her way down the hall, hoping to duck into one of the cross halls before he caught sight of her._

 _Two steps away from her short reprieve, a large firm hand clasped her shoulder and pushed her harshly against the brick wall. "Hey, babe," he leered. "Did you miss me?"_

" _Oh so very much, dearest," she replied prettily, her every word dripping with sarcasm._

" _That's no way to talk to your beloved, Jeynie," he purred._

" _I thought I made it clear that you were nothing but scum when I broke it off, jerk face." She spat in the brute's face._

 _He grunted as he wiped the saliva from his face, He smiled maliciously and pressed himself against her. "I thought I told you there was no breaking it off"_

" _Oh, I heard you loud and clear, dickwad. Just chose to ignore you, is all." THWACK! Trent's backhand across her cheek elicited a yelp. A small trail of blood left the corner of her moth._

" _Behind your snarky comments, you're nothing but a pathetic excuse for a human being—a weakling not even whose parents give a damn for." He smacked her again, harder this time. She yelped louder and fell to the floor._

" _Oh, Trent," she panted, "are you mommy issues, again? Gotta take it out—ow!" A swift kick to her stomach made her cry out in pain, tears falling from her eyes._

 _She looked up at him, hey eyes fearful. Yes, she finally allowed herself to show him she was afraid, something she loathed herself for. He saw the weakness there and smirked. He crouched before her and pinched her chin tightly—painfully—between his thumb and forefinger. "That's the girlfriend I know—_ fearful _and_ weak. _Just like a woman should be." He pressed his wormy lips against hers and she gagged when he thrust his tongue into her mouth, though she had tried to keep them closed against his assault._

 _And as soon as it happened, it was over. There was a loud crunching sound and Trent's looming shadow disappeared. "Hey, douche pants, pick on someone your own size!" Jeyne's eyes flickered up towards the sound of the new voice and saw an unfamiliar face. His dark brown hair was cropped short and bangs styled; his green eyes were filled with anger as he stared at Trent; his noise was pointed and face surprisingly angular, which suited him well. He wore a jean jacket, flannel shirt, dark jeans and brown boots. The young man stood in front of Trent, blocking Jeyne from view. Trent slowly got to his feet, rubbing his jaw._

" _And who are_ you _to jump into private affairs?"_

" _Well," he said, licking his lips, "If you call abusing someone for the whole world to see private, then I'm more than welcome to intervene."_

" _Who said that this situation needed intervention?"_

" _The look on_ her _face did." The guy gestured to Jeyne, who Trent barely got a look of._

" _Why don't you just walk away, asshole?" Trent hissed. By now, a crowd gathered around the trio._

" _That's not your call," the new guy replied calmly._

 _Trent smiled maliciously. "Well, Jeynie, it looks like someone_ does _care about you, after all? Another weakling like you."_

" _Hey, Hasselhoff, I'm talkin' to yah!" the boy rebuked._

 _The brute cracked his knuckles and shook his shoulders. "Yeah, and I told you to stay out of my relationship."_

" _Not gonna happen, douche bag."_

" _Don't say you didn't ask for it." As Trent raised his fist, a large hand grasped the balled fist firmly and a deep voice rang clearly through the air._

" _You weren't gonna do something stupid, like start a fight, now, were you Mr Abraxas?" It was the high school football coach, and boys' gym teacher._

 _Trent immediately yanked his fist from the teacher's grasp and turned away from Jeyne and the defender. "No, coach," he said with an eerie calm. He glared daggers at the both of them before turning away and stalking off down the hallway._

" _Everyone, go to your classes!" he shouted. "There's nothing to see here." The crowd around them slowly dispersed. The boy in front of her remained standing, blocking her from the view of prying eyes, and did not move until the hall was close to empty. He turned quickly towards Jeyne, as if he had forgotten what he was there to do, and helped her up as she tried to get herself to her feet._

" _Hey, whoa. Are you ok?" he said calmly, steadying her as she stood on her feet._

 _She winced when he steadied her, having but a hand on her ribs where Trent had kicked her. "Honestly?... No, not really." She said breathlessly. "You think you'd get used to what the pain after a while."_

" _Why are you with that jerk, anyway?" he asked._

" _I'm not... At least, I tried not to be," her voice shook slightly. "He doesn't take those things well... Look, you're a nice guy and I am thankful for the save but I'm not gonna tell you my life's story."_

 _He shrugged. "Never asked for it," he said evenly. "Anyway, I don't care what anyone says. No one deserves to get beat."_

 _Tears brimmed her eyes as the pain grew. "Well..." she said, waiting for him to answer with his name."_

" _Uh, Dean. Dean Winchester," he replied with a goofy smile when he caught her meaning._

" _Jeyne. Well, Dean, you're the only person in this entire building who thinks so."_

* * *

"DEAN!" Jeyne shouted as she rose abruptly from the bed, the dream slowly fading. She was covered in a sheen of sweat. Her breaths came in ragged, short bursts. It had been a memory in the form of a dream, the very first memory she had of Dean. He had been willing to defend a complete stranger when everyone else she knew, well or nor, would have stood by and not done a thing until she left with bruises covering her body and a broken spirit. The amount of courage it had taken to leave seemed all for naught when she saw Trent that day. But Dean had spent his time since that day protecting her, becoming friends, and Jeyne did the same in return.

There wasn't a time she could remember where they didn't have each other's back... "Even when it hurts," she heard Dean's words echoing in her head.

She would take a day or two to wrap her mind around the situation, even if she hated the very idea. But she would return to Kansas. She was going to help Sam help Dean. If hallucination Dean was right, real Dean was in trouble. Deep trouble.


	4. Chapter 3: 'Til Kingdom Come

Chapter 3: Till Kingdom Come

 _I would like to apologize in advance is that chapter is tediously long and if the ending seems abrupt- I've tried to force the season finale, including my own writing and tid bits, into the mix. I just wanted to get everything done and over with so I can move on to uncharted territory. So apologies if this just takes forever to end. Also, anything that has happened in the following chapters are ideas of my own creation, especially those considering the Darkness. If you wish to use this version of them, as we still do not know what it does until the next season starts, please ask my permission before using it :)_

 _I sincerely hope you'll enjoy this chapter.  
~Sandor_

* * *

The room was bathed in a pale light as the sun began its assent. A form lay quietly snoring, blissfully ignorant of the man who stood at the foot of her bed. He regarded her with a disbelieving gaze. Although the man had suspected she had come to town two nights ago, although the familiar truck hadn't moved, he refused to allow himself the luxury of believing she was there.

She left them with the clear intent never to return; to cut all ties and remain on the 'normal' side of this insane world. Because of that, he _had_ to see her; he had to know if she was real, that the Mark wasn't playing tricks with his rage-filled mind.

She hadn't aged a day since he last saw her, he noted. Or at least very little, unlike himself. Every time he gazed at his reflection in the mirror he saw heavy bags under his eyes and cheeks that had become gaunt. His ordeal had aged him greatly despite his immortality.

Perhaps this was why Cain, himself, appeared old: all the stress from his 300 year remission—resisting the Mark's urges—and all the killing had altered what must have been youthful features. Cain was a young man with a family when he murdered Abel.

The man approached the woman's bedside like a predator stalking its prey—quietly. He reached out to touch her cheek with his large hang and brushed aside a strand of hair. His fingers lingered, allowing himself a moment to memorize all of the things that made her, her. Something told him that it would be the last time he saw her.

She sniffled and clucked her tongue softly while she rolled over, her long tangles falling from her face as she rested on her back. "Dean," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

Thankfully, she never woke. It was time to take his leave. With one last look, he disappeared with the rising of the sun.

* * *

 _The days since Dean had come into her life got better as well as worse. Trent had finally acknowledged the end of their relationship but the relentless teasing and verbal abuse from him and his team mates never stopped. Just that day, the only day since Dean came into her life that he wasn't there, Trent had cornered her. Threats were whispered into her ears like a lover's promise while she was pushed against the wall, every attempt to leave as hopeless as the next._

 _And she was terrified. Oh, was she terrified._

 _With every word that fell from his wormy lips, the bigger she felt his arousal get—pressing against the inner side of her thigh. And she had cried, wondering when the nightmare would end. The young woman worried if Trent would stop there, wondered if he would push further, wondered if he would force her to do something she was not willing to do._

 _Of course, he had to have found her. He had to find her in the one place at the school where she felt safe, where he could never find her. And of course Dean wasn't there to help. She had survived so long without him, running from and fighting against Trent whenever he got into one of his many moods. But with Dean, she let her guard down. With Dean, she didn't have to worry about running away because the look in Trent's eyes whenever he saw him was fear. Dean must have done something to scare him, something that was never uttered to Jeyne. But now she was done fighting and she wanted this entire thing to end. If this was going to be the rest of her life, she wanted nothing to do with living._

 _When Trent seemed like he would never let up, feeling her in intimate ways that made her sick, she kneed him in the groin, punched him in the gut and hit him in the throat, like Dean had shown her, and ran like hell. Tears streamed down her face and the autumn air whipped her hair this way and that._

 _She didn't bother going to the school officials—no one did anything about it before and they wouldn't do anything about it now. They didn't want to ruin his potential as a sportsman. Instead, she ran straight to her apartment complex where she slammed the door to her room and barricaded herself inside. There she hugged her knees to her chest as she lay on the ground, tears streaming endlessly from her eyes and down her cheeks, creating small puddles on the ground._

 _When her mother got home, she tried to coax her out of her room but refused to talk to her—to talk to anyone. The only person she would bother with was the Winchester boy, as her mother liked to call him. Dean was the only one who understood her, the only one who stood up for her and gave a damn when no else would—not even her parents. At least Mrs. Ramsay was grateful he could be there for her, especially when she lacked the conviction to._

 _Mrs. Ramsay waited in the hallway for what felt like forever, waiting for the Winchester family to come home. And as soon as she spotted Dean rounding the corner with his younger brother, she approached them quickly. "Mrs. Ramsay," he said when she saw the distress on her face. "What's wrong?" he turned to Sam, giving him the keys to their apartment, "Sam, go do your homework. Will you be okay alone for a few hours?"_

 _He snatched the keys from Dean and continued to the next door. "I'm not a baby anymore, Dean. I'll be fine."_

 _Dean sighed and turned to his friend's mother. "She's been in there for hours, crying, and she won't talk to anyone but you. I hate to ask but can you go see her? She's not doing good. I think it's regarding that Trent boy from school."_

 _"Sonuvabitch," Dean muttered. He shook his head and apologized when he saw the cross look he got from Sandra. "Yeah, I'll be over. Let me just get a few things."_

 _"Thank you," Sandra said with a smile._

 _When a knock came to her door, she feebly uttered, "Go away..." when she believed it was her mother._

 _"I have pie," came a familiar voice. "Your favourite: Lemon meringue, right? God how to do you eat this stuff. It's not even_ real _pie!"_

 _Jeyne got to her feet and slowly opened the door. Her eyes were blotchy and red from crying. Dean had to do everything in his power not to find Trent and beat the shit out of him. Instead, he set an armful of Zeppelin albums and the two boxes of pie on the floor. He slowly opened the door and entered the room, taking Jeyne awkwardly into his arms. They hadn't hugged before and he wasn't exactly sure what to do to comfort a girl. Food and music did the trick for him after a hard day of hunting. But abuse, this was unchartered territory for him. Winchesters didn't do normal problems, only problems with supernatural undertones. But he breathed a quiet sigh of relief when after a moment of hesitation she hugged him back, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and crying into the crook of his neck._

 _He returned her embrace in kind and stood there for a long while, letting her cry it out. Dean remained silent, not knowing what to say in times like these, and it seemed to do the both of them just fine._

 _When Jeyne finally calmed down enough to talk, she invited him into her room where they sat on her bed and ate pie. She told Dean about what happened and he did his best to keep his anger at bay—for her sake._

 _At first, Jeyne had been apprehensive about listening to Led Zeppelin—it was one of Trent's favourite bands. And though Dean knew he was most likely digging himself into an early grave, he insisted that they listened to a few of his favourite songs together. After a brief moment of contemplation, she nodded slowly, trust for Dean in her eyes. They listen to The Rain Song, Black Dog, Bron-Y-Aur Stomp and Hot Dog, to which they both danced to, Misty Mountain Hop, Stairway to Heaven, and Ramble On. Jeyne found a new love in music, and something else to share with the one person who she could easily call her best friend._

 _That night they stayed up late, uttering things they would never have told anyone else. However, there were two secrets that would remain silent, and one of them was the secret life he led: The life where things that go bump in the night were real._

* * *

When Jeyne woke up, a ghost of someone's touch lingered on her cheek. Perhaps it was a trick of the mind; Dean had waltzed through her dreams.

She stared at the grey ceiling through tired eyes, willing herself to sleep. It was still quite early in the morning and she couldn't figure what had drawn her from her slumber. Maybe she didn't want to see Dean anymore and waking herself was her only subconscious solution.

As her green eyes slowly drooped, a deep rumbling filled her ears. This drew her attention, although her sleep addled mind could not understand why. The revving of an engine snapped her eyes open and she flew from her bed. Someone was stealing her truck.

Jeyne fell briefly to the ground, stumbling and falling several times, before quickly scrambling to her feet. She hopped across the room, pulling on her boots, and threw open the door. As she panted, eyes darting back and forth, a confused expression drew its way onto her face: The truck was where the left it two days ago—parked in front of her room. She retreated to her room after doing a once over; Jeyne was clad in a large white t-shirt (which must have once belonged to Dean), her panties and work boots. Anyone catching a glimpse of her in her scarce attire would assume she ran from the room after finding herself in bed with a stranger.

After slamming the door shut behind her, angry that her senses are beginning to fail her, she pressed her back against the wood of the door and held her head in her hands. Jeyne ran a hand through her messy hair in a frustrated gesture. After taking a moment to regain her bearings, she kicked off her boots and wandered to her bed, wanting nothing but to return to oblivion.

It was as her head hit the pillow that she smelled it: A whiff of cologne tried desperately to linger in the air just a moment longer, wanting nothing but to be discovered. _At least my nose won't fail me_ , she said to herself. Quietly, Jeyne removed the hunting knife from beneath her pillow and began the short search of her rented room.

Jeyne first checked under her bed, where she found nothing. No hex bags, spells or any kind of rune. Nothing but a few dust bunnies. Her feet were quiet as they met the floor as she swept swiftly across the room. The small bathroom was just a few steps in front of her. Behind the shower curtain was nothing of interest, just a few droplets that remained from her last shower. She searched high and low, emptying all of the drawers belonging to the dresser and bedside table. Jeyne ripped the room apart, searching every crevice, every nook and cranny in a paranoid frenzy only to stand in the middle of a disaster area with nothing to show for it.

After reassembling her room, Jeyne took the time to secure her room. She salter the window sill and door, painted a devil's trap under the floor mat and decorated her room with runes painted with invisible ink.

Once she was confident her room was safe, she collapsed on the bed, now wide awake. Green eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling. Memories and faces dances across her vision. Most of them were of Dean Winchester. The man had plagued her every waking moment, and her dreams, it would seem, since she listened to Sam's message. But now she was back in the states, having driven though some towns where they worked cases, thoughts of Dean filled her head. The hallucination only made things worse. And if she was honest with herself, she didn't check herself into a motel to contemplate hallucination Dean's plea, she was there to forget him. To drink so much she forgot why she was there and to go home, where everything was safe and sane.

But where was home?

Was home her house, or was home wherever the Winchesters, Sam, and the Impala went? Was it alone in the quite part of town next to the Devil's Punch Bowl, which served as a constant reminder of what evil was out there or was it with friends, saving people and hunting things... with someone who always had your back? Where did she feel more alive? Where did she feel she could have a life? At 'home' or on the road?

Jeyne shook her head and rolled onto her side, her hand sliding under her pillow where it hit the knife. She pulled it from its hiding place and propped herself upon on an elbow to contemplate it. Her gaze found the pickup parked outside of her room and then turned it back to the knife in her hand. The knife was the first one she bought—with Sam and Dean's help, of course. She had always felt alive with Sam and Dean. In that moment, it was as if her mind had already been made; that the answer had been there all along. Once you're a hunter, you're always a hunter. And the leave she had taken was only a vacation, something that was seldom taken with the boys.

Jeyne retrieved the sheath from her bedside table and place the knife in it. She was a hunter and she belonged with her family, with her boys. However, she could not allow herself to return to Sam and Cas until her head was clear. Some coffee and a good walk would fix that. Jeyne dressed, sliding the hunting knife into her pants, covering with her shirt, before setting out into the day light.

* * *

Sam slammed his laptop shut. He ran a hand though his hair in frustration and heaved a heavy sigh. Dean removed the GPS tracker from his car, the one Sam believed he had been discreet in placing. After spending countless hours the past two days cleaning the bunker with Cas, he had but one wish that had been for one thing to go right; to be able to find Dean.

Sam slammed his fist on the table top, cracking the glass covering the map. He drew in a ragged breath and hung his head. His life seemed to be nothing but a mess since Jess. One tragedy after another. As Sam reflected on his life, he would give anything to start again from the beginning of University, when things were a lot less insane and the world seemingly smaller than it felt today. Not nearly as much evil and an abundance of innocence and good... at least, that was the view he had had of the world back then. Evil always there, lurking in the shadows, but innumerable good surmounting it at every turn.

The Winchester shook his head and silently prayed that he hadn't broken his laptop as he opened it. After a moment of thanks, he turned on his laptop to check on one last thing: The LoJack he set up for the Impala. There were two emails in his inbox. One was from the LoJack website and the email sent from Charlie, one he did not yet have the courage to open. He hovered over Charlie's last email for a moment before deciding to open the notification sent from LoJack: The Impala had been removed. There was a moment of anger before he clicked on the email sent from Charlie. Inside contained a downloadable file—the decrypted codex for the Book of the Damned.

A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he stared at the words and file on the screen—forgetting his anger and worry—the devastating memory of Charlie's loss still heavy and on the forefront of his mind. "Thanks, Charlie," he said softly into the void. "We couldn't have done this without you." He clicked the download button and brought his laptop with him to the armory, previous notes on the codex were tucked under his arm.

Before leaving to pay his respects to Charlie, Cas gave Sa, a recipe for Witch-Killing bullets. It had been simple enough to make, really: Remove the tops of the bullets, inject the open cartridge with two drops of Witch-Killing Brew with a syringe and seal it carefully with a small torch and copper wiring. They had been crafting these whenever time permitted. Production was increased over the last few days with Dean gone AWOL. Something big was coming their way and they to be prepared for what storm was coming, once the Mark of Cain was removed from Deans' arm.

As the youngest Winchester set out to his task, the book's encryption now printing, his mind wandered to Jeyne. It had been days since she last had any contact with him. The text she sent and the disabling of her CPS tracker said she didn't want to be found. Whether or not it was so she could ponder the situation or because she didn't want to be followed on her way back to Canada was a mystery.

Sam understood what he said was completely insane—he wasn't the same person he was when they met. So many things happened to him over the years—losing Jess being one of the many paramounts of his fall to insanity, including Lucifer's possession of his body, a year and a half without his soul and then the battle he suffered to reforge the fragmented pieces of his soul; this was all followed by the near-death experience in attempt to forever close the gates of hell. He had accepted the prospect of his death with open arms—let it be known that this occurred more than once. He was supposed to die and the fact he's lived on, that he's been brought back numerous time from the dead, each time taking a piece with him, has twisted his mind, his sanity, into a form of himself that even he could barely recognize and frightened to fully acknowledge.

He was insane and he knew that. Crazy people do crazy things, especially when it comes down to family. If Jeyne was the one with the Mark, Sam would do everything he could to save her... even if that mean unleashing something horribly evil on the world. Sam was fully aware something big would be coming their way once the Mark was gone. If only he knew what it was... Would the gates to open? Would it release Lucifer? Or was it something worse, far darker, and more sinister and possibly the worst enemy the world has ever seen?

A case of bullets lay open on the desk and he placed give upright in a wooden case. One after the other had their tips removed, oil injected, and resealed. Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed. Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed. Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed. Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed. The repetition the task offered numbed his mind and distracted him from the turmoil possessing his head.

Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed.

Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed.

Tip removed, oil injected and bullet resealed.

Sam continued his task, having completed 3 sets when the door to the bunker opened and closed in the distance.

Castiel heaved a heavy sigh as he descended the stairs into the bunker. His blue eyes were dulled due to lack of sleep—though with his returned Grace he wasn't in desperate need of it—and large purple bags had formed under his eyes. The angel had spent the better part of the night in search of the eldest Winchester and returning to Sam with nothing to show for his efforts. As he crossed the entrance hall, Cas took note of the cracked table surface and fixed it with a snap of his fingers. It told him Sam was no closer to finding Dean than he was. The celestial being closed his eyes a moment and let his senses search for Samuel. It took only a moment to discern his location and he quickly made his way to the armory. There, Castiel found Sam creating some Holy Bullets, focused on finishing his task.

Though Cas already knew the answer, he asked Sam, "Anything" as he took his place in front of the human.

Sam looked briefly up from the task set before him before answering, "Twelve voicemails, LoJack on the Impala _clearly_ disabled... So, a big heaping scoop of _nothing._ " The man grabbed a hammer and the bullet fragment that had been previously removed, and looked at Castiel, clear impatience in his voice. "We need Rowena to hold up her end of the bargain—now." Sam hammered the bullet tip back into place with one stroke, effectively sealing it.

Castiel sighed and took a few short steps away.

"What?" Sam said, unintentionally sounding impatient.

"Nothing," he sighed again. "It-it's just if she removes the Mark using the Book of the Damned... what of the consequences?"

"What are what?" Sam said, his face expressionless.

"Dean said—" Castiel started.

"Dean guessed!" Sam interrupted, frustration and exasperation clear in his voice. Cas was clearly taken aback, giving Sam a pointed look. Sam took a moment to gather himself, taking a deep breath in before continuing. "Cas, what are we supposed to do, huh? Just sit on our asses? Do nothing?"

"No. We _find_ Dean."

"And then what?!" Sam said, angry. "The _only_ thing that stopped Cain was _death_. Do you want to kill Dean because I don't. And the only way I know _how_ to save my brother is to cure the Mark. And yes, I _know_ there'll be consequences," he continued earnestly, Castiel rolling his eyes, "but not you and not dean, not even _Jeyne_ , nobody can tell me what those consequences are. So I'm not gonna let my brother d-destroy himself on a guess!"

Cas looked down and away from Sam. When his eyes finally met Sam's, the Winchester insistently utters, "We _save_ Dean."

The angel wanted nothing but to save Dean. He has spent nigh on a year seeking out answers; any clue that could lead him to a cure. Even if Sam was right, even if the Book of the Damned was a last resort, he didn't have to like it—he loathed the idea. And up until the very moment when Rowena casts her spell, Castiel will keep searching for an alternative.

There had to be another way. "There is _always_ another way, Castiel," Jeyne's figure appeared before him, leaning against the desk against which Sam sat, her face beaten and bloodied. A memory from D-Day. "Always."

* * *

It was around four in the afternoon when Jeyne finally found herself standing on the road beside the Motel. Her jacket had been removed and was tied around her waist; a coffee from a local cafe was in her hand. The Ramsay had taken her time walking around the town of Superior, stopping often to wander through the small shops, sobering herself with aimless wandering to prepare for the coming insanity she would plunge herself into. Removing the Mark of Cain with the Book of the Damned _was_ complete and utter insanity, after all.

She took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from her brow, and walked towards her room. Every step she took was carefully counted, keeping her mind distracted from the impeding doom. She would pack her belongings, making notes of everything in her room, including one to wash the walls before leaving. It would be nice to protect any unsuspecting citizens but could attract unwanted attention from any powerful and knowledgeable supernatural being or that of law enforcement—especially with murder cases involves. The last thing anyone wanted was to have an innocent bystander seem like a psychopath, or be killed in relation to her paranoia.

There was already blood on her hands, blood she could never wash from her hands. There was no need for any more, especially if could be avoided.

Jeyne shook her head to clear it of all thoughts as she placed the keys into her pocket. Visions of days gone past flashed before her eyes; things she didn't want to see again; things that should remain locked away. A room filled with dispatched demons. Eyes glazed over: unseeing. The Rising and Falling. Black eyes, yellow eyes, red eyes, white eyes. Good and evil, the line between the two in constant flux, and some times barely visible. She saw Lucifer, Michael and Gabriel; Death, Pestilence, War and Famine; Dean, Sam and john, and Bobby—all bloodied and broken—standing before her. Each one stood as a remind of all the horrors of the past and those yet to come.

She clutched her head and clenched her eyes shut, willing the horrible visions to vanish. When she opened her eyes again, no one but Dean remained. At least in the end she had him. "Why don't you get yourself some pie?" he said with a goofy smirk. "Pie is the solution to all your problems."

Jeyne simply smiled and nodded. She couldn't bring herself to say anything, nor did she want to. The young woman looked down a moment, placing a few things into her duffel, and she looked up Dean was gone. After she finished packing her belongings, she removed the bedding (one less thing for the busy maids to do), she crossed the parking lot where she threw the bag into the cab of her truck, then proceeded to the office.

Inside of the small, warmly decorated room, was a small display with slices of pie, each one individually wrapped or whole, waiting to be cut. As Jeyne counted the money she owed, she looked up at the clerk. "I'll take two slices of the lemon meringue, if you don't mind."

The comely young man smiled and cut her a handsome slice from the whole pie, which he then carefully wrapped in a cardboard box and handed it to her. A warm and hopeful smile was etched on his face. "Thanks," she said smiling in kind, as she put down an extra 10 dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"Have a good one," the clerk said with a blush creeping up his neck.

Jeyne smirked and retreated to her truck, pie in hand. The door to the cab closed with a thud and she put the keys in the ignition. The cab was cooling off as the sun began its descent. It roared to life and she dug into the generous helping of pie. As soon as the first bite touched her tongue, a frenzy of pictures flashed before her eyes; all of them included Dean, pie and sitting of the hood of the Impala. The pie slipped from her hands and plopped into the box. Jeyne had been so blond, so terribly blind. It all made sense now, the pieces finally settling into place: the rumbling sound she heard that morning bad been Dean's Impala leaving the motel; the cologne had been his—which mean he had been in her room—and self the fool for not realizing it sooner. And somehow, though she had no explanation for it, hallucination Dean wasn't really a hallucination after all. Somehow he had really been there, in her cab, on the side of the road. It would have taken a lot of psychic power to project himself like that, a power Dean did not possess, at least without the Mark's influence.

Without a second though, Jeyne picked up her phone and dialed Sam's number. It rang three times before an answer came at the other end. "Agent Carter," he said calmly, meaning he hadn't checked his caller ID. He was working a case.

"Dean's in Superior, Nebraska," Jeyne said quickly.

"Jeyne? Wait, how did you know what?" Sam said quietly. "And why didn't you tell me this sooner?" he said, clearly angry.

"I only realized he had been here about two seconds ago, numb nuts!" Jeyne hissed. "Nice to know how much faith you have in me, Samuel. If I had known his whereabouts sooner, you _know_ would have been the first person to know."

Sam heaved an audible sigh. "Sorry, Jeyne. Been a long day. I just want to find my brother."

"I know," Jeyne said. "I do, too. Just finish up what you're doing wherever you're at and activate my GPS tracker. Not sure what the motel address is and there's no time to waste—I'll leave the tracker on my room. I'm going to check a few placed around town. Maybe I can find one of Dean's aliases at some one of the motels. You can meet me at my room after that."

"Sure. I'm just tracking a lead—Rudy called earlier. He's dead."

"How?"

"Dean, from what the Sheriff tells me."

There was a short pause. "Be careful, Sammy."

"You too, Jeyne."

Jeyne returned to the office, asked to rent the same room, and placed the tracker on her bed. She turned to her truck and tore out of the gravel parking lot like a bat out of hell. Dean was still in town. She could feel it in her bones.

* * *

Dean waited until Jeyne had passed his hiding place before he turned on the Impala and drove down the road with the intent on returning to his room. Judging by her speed, Dean knew Jeyne had finally put all the pieces of his puzzle together. She knew he had been there. He wanted her to know that had been there; wanted her to be motivated to team up with Sam and go on a wild goose chase to find him. But they never would, he wouldn't let them. The Mark may have filled him with pure rage and the fierce need to kill but he retained enough of himself to not want to hurt those her cared for the most.

He parked the Impala across from his room, in plain sight. Jeyne would come back and when she did she would see his car. Dean knew she could come looking for him, but he would be long gone. There was a lot of ground to cover and barely enough time to do it. She could not find him. He was on a missing and she was the only person who could deter him.

Dean quickly crossed the threshold of his room and strode towards the washroom. Blood caked his hands and it was adamant that he scrub himself clean.

The water flowing across his ran scorching hot from the tap. Blood ran down the drain, leaving long elegant tails as they entered oblivion. However, after the blood was gone, he kept scrubbing his hands. There was still blood there, blood no one else but him could see. And he scrubbed hard and faster and with fury. Pictures of all the faces that he died by his hand or died because or for him flashed past his eyes. Bobby, John, Charlie, Rudy, Ellen, Jo, Gabriel. So many faces. So many _dead_ faces. Too many to count. They ran in an endless loop, each one taking place of his own reflection in the mirror. Over and over and around and around they went until it was too much; until the anger and the sorrow and the regret all boiled relentlessly to the surface and he punched the mirror, creating a spider web pattern of broken shards. And when he finally looked at his reflection, all he could see was a thousand fragments of himself... because that's all he was.

A broken man.

Dean stormed into the bedroom where she grabbed the TV and smashed it. He turned over the dresser and bed. He destroyed everything that was in reach because that was all he had ever been good at: taking away everything that is good in the world. The lives he had saved didn't bring the lives that truly mattered to him. Everyone that he loves died or will die.

And as Dean looked about the chaos he created in his room, he knew what he had to do. He would do anything to remove the Mark, even if he had to come face to face Death for the last time.

* * *

Jeyne slammed the door to the cab. There was still no sign of Dean. She had checked every single motel in this bloody town and still he was nowhere to be found. She slammed the flat of her hands on the steering wheel and let out a frustrated grunt. Though there was still one last place to check, what were the chances that he was still there? He clearly didn't want to be found.

With doubt spreading through her heart, Jeyne turned on the truck and sped to her last destination. There was no telling what she would find when she got there. But she hoped it was him. By God, she hoped he was there. What she wouldn't give to see him again... the real him.

The wheels of the truck turned round and round and brought her to her destination. As she drove past the buildings and towards the driveway, she spotted a black car. She slowed down and reversed to confirm it was the Impala. And there it was, clear as day, parked in front of the room directly next to hers. Dean had been there the entire time. He had been there and she was too drunk and self-absorbed to see what had been there all along.

The tires squealed as she tore into the parking lot, parking with a sudden halt behind the Impala. She grabbed her gun and did a quick once over of the classic car before moving to the motel room door. Her knuckled wrapped quickly on the door. "Dean? Dean, it's Jeyne. Let me in." Her voice was even. When there was no answer, she furrowed her eyebrows. "Dean?" Still, there was no answer. _Perhaps this is a trap_ , she thought. _What if the Mark has taken hold of Dean? What if he's no longer the man you believe him to be?_ Jeyne swallowed past a lump in her throated and reached for the doorknob. She found the door was unlocked, which she found strange.

She entered the room, anyway.

What she found before her was a chaos: it was as if a tornado had gone through the room, destroying everything he touched. Shattered glass and wood was strewn across the room and for a moment she believed there had been a fight; that someone attacked Dean. That was until she saw a note and a pair of keys on the bed.

Cautiously, gun in front of her, she looked down at the note. Dean's unmistakable chicken scratch was on it. She swallowed past another lump and read what was on the paper.

 _She's all yours, Huntress._

She felt her knees go weak. A shaking hand rose to her lips to stifle a sob. He had promised her the Impala a long time ago, when he said he would die... or would soon die. There was one thing she dreaded more than being alone, without anyone to have her back, and that was a world without Dean Winchester. Getting a hold of herself, Jeyne took the phone out of her pocket and clicked Sam's name in the recent call list.

"He was here... Dean was here, Sam," she said softly, allowing herself to let go of hope, to expect the worst. "He was here and now he's gone. He's dead or he's going to be dead."

"Jeyne, where are you?" Sam's voice was urgent.

"Why does it matter?" she mumbled, tears beginning to stream down her face.

"Dean can't die—the Mark won't let him. It's impossible."

"Cain died," she said pointedly. "He passed the Mark on to someone else, even while retaining it, Dean was able to kill Cain. With the first blade. What if he passes the Mark on to someone else? What if he talks Cas into giving him the blade? He could die, Sam. What if he already succeeded?"

"He isn't dead yet. Just tell me where you are and we'll figure this out."

"Activate the tracking device and you'll find me in the room to the right." Jeyne hung up the phone with a robotic motion.

What a strange feeling, to feel hopeless. It's like floating through nothingness without a purpose, without knowing which way is up or down, and not caring. There's nothing but endless darkness to accompany you; darkness surrounding you, consuming you and spreading through your heart, taking over every feathery soft memory that would have once brought one happiness in times of darkness. They don't matter anymore, those memories. It's like feeling their relevance is completely obsolete now that loved ones are gone, or that they will soon be gone, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.

The light cannot be turned on. The light can never be turned on.

And that's what Jeyne felt as the world around her began to fade into nothing. The bed fell away from underneath her, the walls falling away and floor disappearing to reveal an endless expanse of nothing. Nothing but darkness and emptiness. A place where hope could never exist; will never exist. This feeling, it was unlike anything she felt before. It was tenfold the amount of despair and hopelessness she felt on the day Dean was dragged to hell. But there was a way to bring him back, at least if he was in hell. With the Mark of Cain there was no way to tell where he would go. Would he go to purgatory when he died? Would he travel to its darkest and most dangerous recesses where only the pure evil of heart and soul went, even if it wasn't their origin? A place so dark and distorted that any normal soul of purgatory could never survive? She would never survive a trip to purgatory, not to place so deep in the forest, where the tree tops are so closely knit together that light would never befall the creatures living underneath.

Or would he go to a place far darker, far worse than purgatory and hell combined? A place where light could never exist and the very idea of hope and life were extinguished the very moment they are conjured, never to come to fruition. A place where darkness is the ruler of all things, something that was born of mindless evil and destruction. A place where you cannot escape once you have been dragged into, kicking and screaming. A place where you become _one_ with the darkness.

If that is where he was going, Dean would be lost forever.

Jeyne slowly drew herself back to reality, attempting to push the dark thoughts from her mind. She wondered what madness had befallen her, to have lost such hope. The damage to the room was new, 'fresh'. It didn't mean that he was yet dead. And all of a sudden, she felt ashamed of herself as she wiped away her tears. She had never been so quick to give up, to be hopeless. She was sharp of mind, clever and there was always a solution.

 _There was always a way_.

Jeyne took a moment to take a deep breath. She closed her grey eyes and breathed in through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, opening her eyes as she did so. With a new found determination in the form of a small flame growing slowly bigger and brighter, she rose from the bed with the keys to the Impala in hand and exited the room. Jeyne glanced Sam's truck pulling into the parking lot and making a b-line for her position.

Sam ejected himself from the truck and ran towards the Impala. Jeyne was already in the classic car, the engine roared to life. Her hands were glued to the wheel. Her long slender fingers flexed as she took in the feel of the leather beneath them, relishing the moment despite the urgency of the situation. "Jeyne, what do you think you're doing?" Sam said urgently.

"Going to find Dean," she replied, her gazed fixed on the treeline across the street.

Sam pushed an exasperated sigh and shrugged his shoulders in an annoyance. "And how exactly do plan on finding him? Dean's made it clear that he doesn't want to be found and if he's left the Impala, it's likely he isn't coming back. He hasn't left a trail, nothing."

Jeyne turned her gaze and stared at Sam, glaring daggers at him. "I don't have a plan, Sam. For the first time in forever, I don't know what I am doing. But feeling as hopeless as I did a few minutes ago, that's something I never want to feel again. It scared the shit out of me. I... I didn't want to live anymore, not without Dean... Doing nothing about it isn't going to help him and I can't do nothing for another day. So are you getting the car or not?"

The Winchester stood beside the Impala; his eyebrows knitted, nostrils flaring and his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He clenched his fist and his lips were drawn in a straight line. Without a word, he strode to the passenger seat and climbed in.

"So, driving into the unknown and hoping for the best is your plan?" he said calmly, though it was apparent he was none-too-happy about it.

Jeyne sighed as she put the car into drive and pulled out of the motel's parking lot. "Yep." Sam gave her a pointed look and then focused on the road ahead. "Look, I know you don't like it but it's the only plan I've got."

After a moment of silence, all Sam could muster was, "Yah," and the silence relapsed.

For the first time in a long time, if there had ever been a time, the silence between Sam and Jeyne was an uncomfortable one; tense and full of urgency and disagreement. The duo had always been able to get along with each other well. There had been more tense moments between herself and Dean or himself and his brother. Never between either of them. Ever. And this time she couldn't split the tension with a quip or a funny remark, and it didn't bode well for her.

Just as the silence became too much, Sam's phone began to ring. His face tensed when he saw Dean's name and number appear on the screen. "Dean?" Jeyne calmly pulled onto the gravel shoulder of the road and killed the engine.

Sam put the phone on speaker. They both listened intently. "I gave it a shot, Sammy." His voice was resigned.

"Listen, whatever you're doing, whatever you've done, please..."

Dean chuckles softly. "Hell, I even works a case. I gave everything I had to beat this thing down."

"I saw... I saw Rudy..."

There was a brief lapse in silence before he said, "Well, then, you saw what I did." Dean sounded ashamed.

"No, that wasn't _you_."

"Sure as hell felt like me," Dean replied honestly. "Brother, I'm done."

"No, no you're not," Jeyne interrupted Sam before he could reply. Her words were said in earnest.

Everything went silent. Jeyne briefly wondered if Dean had hung up, or if the call had dropped. But then came his voice. "Jeyne..."

"Hey, Dean." Her voice was shaky, a smile on her face.

"Glad to see you finally found my brother."

"Actually, he called me in a few days ago, though I think you already figured that out."

"Then why weren't you with him for two days?"

Jeyne swallowed hard and took a moment to find her words. "Sam told me what happened to you... what you did to Cas, well, that was plain to see... And everything was just hard to hear, especially since I've been gone for so long. I've... I've missed a lot."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "you did... Look, I want to see Sammy alone. You take the Impala and you get as far away as possibly can, you hear me?"

"That's not your choice to make, Dean," she replied firmly.

"Just take the car and go to back to Canada. Please," he begged her quietly. Jeyne exchanged looks with Sam and shook her head no. She would be at Sam's side for whatever was to happen next. "Just do this one last thing for me. Do me this one _last_ favour."

"Fine..." Jeyne feigned her anger and exasperation. "Fine! After everything, you're just going to discard me, just like everyone else I've ever called family." Jeyne pretends to open the car door and slams in closed. She remains silent as Sam continues the conversation in the background. Dean lets out a shaky sigh. "She gone?"

"Yeah... She's just kicking a pile of rocks on the side of the road," Sam replied. "Dean..."

"Grab a pen. It's time to say goodbye."

* * *

Jeyne drove the Impala as fast as she could towards the coordinates on the GPS. The address that it lead to was just outside Angel Fire, New Mexico. A place called Jumina's Cafe. Sam sat beside her, searching his contacts for Castiel. Originally, he was going to text him, asking the angel to get Rowena to cast the spell and soon. But a call seemed like a better means of communication. Jeyne insisted upon it.

The phone rang once or twice before Cas picked up. "Sam," he said.

"Hey, Cas. You're on speaker—Jeyne is with me."

"Have you any news of Dean?"

"Yeah. He gave us coordinates to a cafe south of Angel Fire, New Mexico. We're just a few hours away. Haven't stopped all night."

"What can I do to help?" Cas asks, his tone even.

Sam runs a hand through his hair. "Meet with Rowena and Crowley—make sure the spell is ready to cast. Something about meeting up with Dean isn't right."

"Okay. Is there anything else I can do, Sam? Jeyne?"

"No. Just get the spell ready. We should be there within in the hour," Jeyne sighed. "If you don't hear from either of us in an hour and twenty minutes, make sure Rowena casts the spell immediately."

"Be careful."

"You too, Castiel," Jeyne said with a sad smile. "We'll see you soon."

The line went dead as the call was ended. A silence fell on the car. The anger from hours ago was forgotten and was replaced with an uneasy silence. They needed to talk Dean out of what he was going to do if they were going save him. There was no telling if they would succeed.

The hour ticked by slowly, and the sun was getting higher in the sky. It meant that they were getting closer to their destination. And the closer they got, the more nervous they felt. When they finally arrived, pulling onto a gravel driveway of an abandoned and dilapidated Mexican restaurant, tensions were high and nerves were wired. Sam turned to Jeyne and hugged her fiercely. "No matter what happens inside, I'll be right behind you. Always."

Sam could only nod his head in affirmation. "I know," he barely managed to choke out.

They both exited the car and made their way to the only entrance. Jeyne remained quiet and in the shadows, entering quickly behind Sam so as to make it seem like it was only him there. She ducked into darkness of the doorway before anyone in the building could notice.

Sam swallowed hard as he quickly entered the room, his voice full of relief as he said his brother's name. "Dean."

"Sam," Dean said calmly.

Sam quickly looked around the room. "What is this?"

"We need to talk," Dean replied.

"Whatever you are thinking of doing, don't." The youngest Winchester said desperately. There is another way. You don't need to go with him. You don't need to die!"

"Funny you say that," Dean said with a small smirk. "Truth is, when I left, I thought the only way out _was_ my death. Well... I was wrong, Sam: It's yours."

"What? What are you talking about?" Sam said incredulously.

"Well, baby brother, Death has found me a place to stay—a place far away from here. Here's the kicker: it's not even on Earth."

"What? He's gonna... Gonna send you into outer space?!"

"No, well, he didn't say outer space," he replied casually.

"This is madness, Dean!"

An even voice interjected, "Far from it, I'm afraid." Jeyne's suspicions had been confirmed: Dean had summoned Death. She had no liking for the Horseman, but she didn't hate him either. He had a good taste in food, no doubt. However, for this moment, she hated him. And she hated Dean.

"No one's asking you," Sam rebuked.

"Hear him out!" Dean yelled.

Sam rolled his eyes and looked at Death. "Our conundrum is simple, Sam. Your brother cannot be killed, and the Mark cannot be destroyed, not without inciting a far greater evil than any of us have ever known."

"What evil?" Sam said impatiently.

"The Darkness," Dean answered.

"What the hell is that?"

"What does it sound like? Does it sound like a good thing?"

Death removed himself on the stage where he sat. "Even if I remove Dean from the playing field, we're still left with you, loyal, dogged Sam, who I suspect will never rest until his sets his brother free—will never rest until his brother is free of the Mark, which simple cannot happen, lest the Darkness be set free... Then there was that time you stood me up," he added darkly.

Sam's expression dropped as he approached his brother. His shoulders were rolled forward in disappointment. "You traded my life."

"I'm willing to live with this thing forever, as long as I know that I and it will never hurt another living thing," Dean insisted.

Sam shook his head. "This isn't you. This doesn't make any sense." he chuckled.

Dean looked at his brother, stone-faced. "No, this makes perfect sense if you stop thinking about yourself for one damn minute!"

Sam swallowed hard. "It's for the greater good," Dean said calmly. "Once you considered that, this makes all the sense in the world." Sam's breathing increased rapidly as he looked from Death to Dean and back again a few times.

And Jeyne could no longer hold your silence. "Really?" she said, disbelieving, as she emerged from the shadows and took her place quickly beside Sam. "Because this doesn't make a _lick_ of sense to me. Dean sacrificing his brother? Sacrifice himself for the greater good I can see. But Sam? Something crazy has got to be rattling around your head, Dean, for Death to convince you that this is sane."

"Ah, the Vessel. I wondered when you would come out of the shadows, Jeyne," Death said casually.

"God damn it, Jeyne! Why can't you do _one_ thing I ask you?"

"NO!" she yelled. "No, you aren't Trent and you don't get to push me around like that; you don't get to tell me what to do. No one does, but me."

"I wanted you away from here, Jeyne. I didn't want you to see this. I didn't want you to see _me_ like this."

"Well, you don't have a _damn say_ about what I get to see or do or not, Winchester," she hissed.

Dean swallowed hard and turned his attention to Sam. "Remember when we were in that church, making Crowley human, about the closed the Gates of Hell? Well, you sure as hell were ready to die for the greater good then."

"Yeah, and, Dean, you pulled me back.

"And I was wrong. You were right, Sam. You knew that this world would be better without us in it."

"No, no, no, wait a second. You're twisting my words here, Dean."

"Why? Because we-we track evil and kill it?" he said simply, advancing on Sam. "The family business? Is that it? Look at the tape, Sam. Evil tracks _us_. And it nukes _everything_ in our vicinity – our family, our friends."

"Hello, I'm standing right here," Jeyne attempted, which Dean simply brushed off.

"It's time we put a proper name to what we really are and we deal with it."

"Wait a second. We are _not_ evil," Sam insisted. Dean turned slowly towards him. "Listen... we're far from perfect, but we are good. That thing on your arm is evil, but not you, not me... not Jeyne."

"I let Rudy die." He said this plainly. "How is that not evil? I know what I am, Sam. But who were you when you—when you drove that mane to sell his soul... or when you bullied Charlie into getting herself killed? And to what end? A-a good end? A just end? To remove the Mark no matter what the consequences? Sam, how is that no evil? I have this thing on my arm, and you're willing to let the Darkness into the world."

"You were also willing to summon Death to make sure you could never do any more harm. You summoned me, and by extension Jeyne, because you know we would do anything to protect you. That's no evil, Dean. That's not an evil man. That is a good man crying to be heard, searching for... some other way."

"No, there is no other way, Sam. I'm sorry."

"Bullshit, Dean," Jeyne spat. "There's always another way."

"Jeyne, stay outta this," Dean said calmly, his eyes never leaving Sam's.

Sam clenched his jaw and his fist. And with a grunt, Sam raised his left fist and punched Dean across the face. Jeyne wanted to say something, wanted to do anything make them stop but there was no way out of this. They needed to battle it out. "Good... Good. Fight." Dean said, his voice robotic.

He raised his right fist and returned the punch, a crunching sound was made as it collided with Sam's jaw. They threw punches wildly at each other, to the face, to the chest, deflecting some and others making their mark. The brothers moved so fast it was hard to tell what was going on. Dean eventually managed to land a good punch which sent Sam toppling backwards. He was quick to get back to his feet and when he charged at his brother, Dean was ready to meet him. Dean grabbed SAm by his collar and tossed him to the side like he was a ragdoll. Jeyne could see the anger in his eyes as he approached Sam, the need to kill bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

"Dean, that's enough!" The eldest Winchester ignored her, hell-bound on his task. Sam landed a few punches to Dean's face, but it didn't seem to deter him. While Sam's face was bloodied, Dean's remained normal, like he hadn't begun a fist fight with his brother. Sam was thrown to the ground once again. He grabbed onto the railing, pulled himself up and charged at Dean with his fist out stretched. Dean caught it easily. Jeyne ran towards Dean, taking this opportunity while his focus was on Sam, and punched Dean in the jaw with a loud crunch.

Dean turned his head towards her. "I said, that's _enough_ , Dean Winchester—!" Dean kicked her stomach from the side and sent her flying across the room, her head hitting the bar with a loud _thud_ , knocking her unconscious.

"Jeyne!" Sam yelled. Dean brought his arm down onto Sam's elbow joint, slackening his stance, and punched him across the face, a sickening crunch sounding through the air. Sam fell to the ground. Dean grabbed him by the shirt and repeatedly punched him, each one harder and louder than the last.

"Ok," Sam said feebly from the ground, his hands raised in surrender. "That's enough. Hey, that's enough," he panted. Sam whipped the blood away from his forehead, panting some more, as he tried to get to himself off of the ground. He looked up at his brother, Dean returning his gaze with a cold-blooded stare. "You'll never, ever hear me that you—the real you—is anything but good." Dean's gaze softened as Sam coughed and spat some blood from his mouth. He said the following for Dean's sake, not his own. If this was going to save his brother, then maybe one last sacrifice could be make. One last effort to save his brother. "But you're right. Before you hurt... anyone else," his gazed turned momentarily to Jeyne's limp body and then back to Dean, who had followed his line of sight, "you have to be stopped at any cost. I understand."

Sam spits more blood out and gets to his knees, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He clears his throat. "Do it."

Sam swallows hard. Clears his throat a second time. There are approaching footsteps and Dean turns to see Death behind him, his scythe outstretched to him. "Please. Do me the honor," the horseman says as Dean grabs hold of the object. He marvels at for a second before taking it in his hands and turning towards Sam, ready to reap his soul. Sam looks into Dean's eyes, tears rolling down his bloodied face. He will not look away. "Close your eyes." Dean looks away from him briefly, like he wouldn't be able to kill him while looking him in the eye. "Sammy," his voice wavers, "close your eyes."

"Wait..." Sam reaches into his jacket pocket and removes three pictures. "Take these. And one day, when you find your way back... let these be your guide. And the can help you remember what it was to be good... what it was to love." He carefully places the pictures on the ground. One of them was Dean and Mary. The other with Sam, himself and Mary. The last one two smiling teenagers, one of which looked up at him: It was himself and Jeyne. Jeyne was looking at the side of Dean's head, laughing about some joke he had told, and Dean was looking into the camera; looking up at himself as if years ago this picture was meant to be taken to remind him in this moment what it is to be alive. What it is to have mercy.

Sam looked back up at his brother. "It's for family you most proceed, Dean. To be what you are, to become what you've become is a stain on their memory," Death said smoothly. "Do it. Or I will." Dean looked down sadly at the pictures and at his brother and Jeyne.

Dean exhaled sharply, his features filled with sadness... with humanity. He didn't want to kill Sam... But this was the only way... wasn't it? Sam nodded his head, signalling he was ready. He was going to die by his hands. Could he really go through with this? Could he really hurt one more person before he couldn't hurt anybody else? He raised the scythe. "Forgive me," he said.

Sam nodded, attempting a smile. "Dean, no!" Jeyne cried, having come to her senses. Jeyne screamed as Dean brought down the scythe and with one big swing, lodged it into Death's torso. Death seemed surprised and betrayed. Dean took a step back and Sam look unbelieving at what his brother had done. Dean took shaky breaths in, trying to control the stream of emotions rolling through his body, disbelief the most prominent. And Death turned to ash before their faces.

Dean looked down and towards Sam and then to Jeyne, shock apparent on both of their faces. Dean helped Sam first to his feet. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "I'll live. You?"

"Fantastic."

"Good."

"I think I just killed death..." All Sam could do was nod in response.

"Dean..." Jeyne's voice came out weak. Sam nodded and Dean turned towards her, walking quickly to her side. He bent down and looked her over. She punched him, which he knew he deserved. "You're an asshole, you know that? The biggest dickwad that ever walked the Earth," she said through her tears. "I hate you for it," she sobbed, pulling him close to her and crying into the crook of his neck, clutching his shirt desperately. Dean carefully took her into his arms. "I hate you for being so freaking stupid and blind and for being everything else that you are. Stupid Winchester."

"I'm so sorry, baby girl," he mumbled while he cradled her to his chest, one arm around her waist and the other on the back of her head. They stayed like that for a while, holding each other, Dean glad that he hadn't lost her forever, though he knew there might be an ass-whoopin' later.

After she had calmed herself, which she had willed herself to do, she looked up at Dean and Sam and cleared her throat. "No chick flick moments... Right?"

Despite the tension in the air, they both chuckled. "Let's get the hell outta here," Dean said. He helped Jeyne to her feet, took her hand and led her and Sam towards the stage so they could pack up and get the hell out of Dodge. They were nearly done their rushed packing when thunder rolled loudly above their heads, like it had been coming from the inside of the building. Dean looked to Jeyne and then over to Sam. "That sound right to you?"

Sam and Jeyne stared wide-eyed at each other when a lightning bolt shot down from the sky and through the roof, landing directly on the Mark. It sent Jeyne and Sam flying when it touched Dean's arm, sending a wave of heat through his forearm, like someone was trying to brand him. "Dean!" Jeyne cried as Dean collapsed, clutching his forearm. Small electrical currents ran across The Mark of Cain and it slowly disappeared as Dean watched. He grunted with pain, finding it difficult to breathe, when the electric current shot up from his arm and back through the roof of the restaurant and disappeared.

Dean doubled over, his eyes wide, to catch his breath. The constriction around his ribcage was gone. He looked down disbelieving at the place on his arm where the Mark of Cain should be. It had vanished. He looked at his brother and then at Jeyne, disbelief and relief in his eyes. The darkness that had once been there cleared away to show his green eyes.

Dean grabbed his things, shrugged his coat on and followed Sam as he left the building. Jeyne brought up the rear. "This is good. Dean, this is good." The Winchester brothers walked towards the Impala, Jeyne's hand in Dean's. "The—the Mark is off your arm. Nothing crazy happened."

"You get your baby back," Jeyne added sheepishly.

"Yeah," Dean answered, as Jeyne handed him the keys. "I'm sure everything's perfectly fine," he said sarcastically.

Electric currents began invading the air like small white and red serpents striking in every which way. The trio looked up to see the clouds in the sky begin to turn red. "What the—"

A lightning strike shot through the sky and into the ground, which caused them to jump. Panic began to spread through the three of them. More lightning strike came frantically, hitting the ground and blasting dirt in every way. A strange wail filled the air as the strikes finished. Jeyne swallowed hard and clutched Dean's hand. "You were saying, Sam?"

There was an eerie calm and wind whipped around them. "What did Death call this?"

Dean looked out onto the horizon, waiting for something to happen. "The Darkness."

A rumbling began. It started off slowly and calmly and in built into a frenzy, a crescendo, and black clouds, very much resembling the true form of a demon, shot up from the ground. It passed over their heads, an unearthly screech filling the air. They looked in shock around them as more and more of the black smoke erupted from the ground like volcanoes, throwing debris into the air. They zoomed across the sky to gather in a nearby field to merge as one, a frenzy of swirling smoke that looked very much like a black swirling vortex of terror. As it began to expand like a shockwave coming from a nuclear explosion, Dean spun around. "Get in the car!"

"Yeah," Sam and Jeyne replied, running for the car.

"Let's go, let's go!"

Jeyne dove for the back seat and the boys slammed their doors closed behind them. They each locked their door and Dean shoved the key into the ignition, the Impala roaring to life. He threw the car into reverse, floored it only to realize he we stuck in the mud. He alternated from drive to reverse to no avail. The Darkness traveling at top speed towards the car. Sam and Jeyne watched on in terror. "Dean..." Sam said urgently.

And just as the Darkness swarmed their car, roaring and full of malevolence, Jeyne yelled, "DEAN!" before the sound of their screeches drowned out her voice and the Impala was plunged into complete darkness.


End file.
